


Stuck

by shomaun_ho



Series: CC Prompts [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Costume Tomfoolery, Humour, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shomaun_ho/pseuds/shomaun_ho
Summary: "It was easy to see where the problem lay. A big chunk of purple fabric had, at some point in Yuzuru’s frantic tugging to free himself, wedged itself in the zipper. Yuzuru had tried, unsuccessfully, to pry it out, and after an awful lot of whining and moaning and ‘Ireallyneed to pee, Shoma,please,’-ing, he had persuaded Shoma to help him."**Prompt: Shoma undressing Yuzuru, preferably LGC or Origin costumes





	Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> Another idea from a cc anon!! Once again, I had non-horny ideas for this one, except things did turn a touch on the horn-side without my knowing or planning. Oops.  
> Again, sorry this is a little all over the place *prayer hands emoji* I hope I can bring something that will make up for these messes soon 
> 
> Also! Please note that I asked nine million different sources where exactly the zipper was on LGC, and while the common consensus was not 'on the back', it's where I wanted it to be, so I am going to say big thanks to everyone for the advice and then dutifully ignore all of it <3

“It’s not _funny_.”

Shoma didn’t often hear Yuzuru sounding angry. He wasn’t a particularly angry person—passionate, certainly, and sometimes his frustration wore a stormy, irate mask, but real, true, _brazen_ anger? A rarity. One that Shoma was, admittedly, partially the cause of.

“It’s a little funny,” Shoma said, and Yuzuru shot him a steely glare that sent an awful cocktail of cold fear and a thoroughly indecent kind of heat rushing through him. He bit his lip to stifle his smile, and fiddled again with the zip on the back of Yuzuru’s costume.

It was easy to see where the problem lay. A big chunk of purple fabric had, at some point in Yuzuru’s frantic tugging to free himself, wedged itself in the zipper. Yuzuru had tried, unsuccessfully, to pry it out, and after an awful lot of whining and moaning and ‘I _really_ need to pee, Shoma, _please_ ,’-ing, he had persuaded Shoma to help him.  

He’d really rather...not have been accosted for this, truthfully. But he’d wasted too much time playing on his phone rather than getting changed, and before he knew it, everybody else had left the room, and he was alone with Yuzuru, and Yuzuru was tying himself in knots trying to undo whatever mess he’d made, and Shoma had simply not been able to change and pack up fast enough to avoid being drawn in.

Given the choice, Shoma would’ve left this to anybody else. Javier would have been happy to help, or Adam, and Nathan would’ve done it whether he wanted to or not, simply because Yuzuru had asked him to. It’s not that Shoma doesn’t _want_ to help, it’s just—well, helping Yuzuru undress isn’t something he thought he’d be doing in the middle of a competition.

That, and Shoma was one of the few people who wasn’t totally afraid to outright laugh at Yuzuru Hanyu when he deserved to be laughed at—which he most definitely did—and Shoma knew him well enough to understand that snorting at Yuzuru’s current predicament ran the risk of putting him in a foul mood.  

But he could hardly be faulted for doing so, not when Yuzuru was being so wonderfully dramatic about the whole situation.

It was also...a little difficult to focus on the problem at hand, when Yuzuru had _displayed_ himself the way he had—palms to the wall, perfectly exhibiting the taper from broad shoulders to narrow waist, and the delicious swell of his hips. For all his efforts not to, Shoma had found himself helplessly staring.

“I’m going to trap you in your costume and see how _you_ like it,” Yuzuru grumbled, knocking his forehead hard to the wall and shifting from foot to foot. “Hurry _up_.”

Shoma shook his head, face unpleasantly warm, and turned his mind back to the task at hand. Yuzuru wasn’t looking at him, thankfully, for Shoma was sure if he were to turn around now he’d be able to read far too much in the flush of Shoma’s cheeks.

“Maybe if you stopped _moving_ ,” Shoma said, giving the back of the costume a threatening little tug. Yuzuru stilled, but huffed loudly. “Better. Stay there a second.”

Shoma tried again to wheedle the gnarled fabric free. It had jammed tight, and if it were his own clothing, Shoma would simply pull until something gave—whether it be the grip of the zipper or the fabric itself. But it isn’t his, and he isn’t too sure Yuzuru would appreciate him tearing a hole in his costume.

“You really jammed it,” he said. He was trying to sound at least a little sympathetic, but his tremulous tone must’ve given his humour away. Yuzuru gave him a scathing look over his shoulder, and wiggled impatiently.

“I’m aware,” he said through gritted teeth. Shoma bit back an amused grin, and forced himself to focus.

Yuzuru had made an impressively large mess of removing his costume. He’d managed to drag the zip down from his neck to the spot just between his shoulder blades before the fabric had caught. It was almost admirable, both how thoroughly he’d wedged the thin purple fabric into the zipper, and how terrible the spot in which he’d managed to do it was—about the only place he could not easily reach for himself.

“I don’t know if I can get it out,” Shoma said. He picked at it hesitantly, leaning in closer to get a better look. “Want me to just rip it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He was standing perhaps too close, now, his legs nudging against Yuzuru’s, hips awkwardly brushing the swell of Yuzuru’s ass, not helped by Yuzuru’s impatient shifting, which brought them again and again into close, distracting contact. Shoma’s gaze flicked periodically downwards, guiltily watching the way the tight purple fabric hugged Yuzuru’s every dip and curve, before snapping back up, and focusing again on the jammed zipper.

“Whatever you’re doing back there, could you do it a little faster?” Yuzuru said to the wall. Shoma lifted his face and glared at the back of Yuzuru’s head.

“I can let you do it, if you want,” he said, poking Yuzuru’s back beneath his ribs. He twitched away from the touch, and Shoma barely bit back an involuntary groan when Yuzuru’s ass knocked hard into his crotch.

“No,” Yuzuru said, “no, keep helping. Please.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Shoma said. Yuzuru peered over his shoulder, looking about as apologetic as half a grumpy face can look.

“Sorry. Just, my _bladder_ is—”

“If you pee yourself, I’m just gonna rip it.”

The corner of Yuzuru’s mouth twitched.

“Deal.”

Shoma shook his head on a little smile, and went back to the stuck zipper.

It was slow work. The fabric was sturdy enough, stretchy enough to meet the demands of Yuzuru’s skating, but it felt thin and fragile between Shoma’s fingers. Warm, damp with sweat, it stretched dangerously with every little pull and he was sure the zipper teeth would puncture it if he tugged too hard.

The first time his prying fingers brushed against Yuzuru’s back, Yuzuru hissed.

“Cold,” he said, and Shoma apologised, but it was almost impossible to avoid doing it again. Every point of contact drew a twitch or a shiver from Yuzuru, but after the first couple of yelps and complaints, he fell silent.

Eventually, Shoma’s meticulous work paid off, at least a little. With a final small tug, the slider shifted up, and the ensnared fabric came free. He pressed his palm flat against Yuzuru’s back, just below the slider in order to hold the material still, and zipped up an inch. Yuzuru gave a rather dramatic shudder, and made a strange, aborted sound that Shoma tried his best to ignore.

“Hold still,” Shoma murmured. Now that he’d freed the fabric on the outside, he could feel tension beneath the press of his hand, a patch of choked up material he couldn’t see where the costume sat against Yuzuru’s spine. “I think it’s caught on the other side, too.”

Yuzuru made a soft sound. Still sort of disgruntled, but distracted now.

Shoma pushed the tip of one finger inside the costume, above the slider, and hooked it down, using the end of his nail to fish out the snagged piece of fabric there, too. The back of his finger brushed the soft skin of Yuzuru’s back. He was sweating—understandably, post-skate, in a costume with very little breathing room—and Shoma’s finger slotted easily into the dip of his spine, a valley bracketed on either side by strong muscle.

Slowly, he pulled the zip down, and the costume peeled open.

Inch after inch of skin revealed itself at a painstaking pace. Shoma let out a tremulous breath, watching the pale, shimmering flesh appear, and Yuzuru gave a strange little shudder, back arching, just enough to create a gap between costume and skin, so Shoma was no longer touching him.

“Are you nearly done?” he asked, though he didn’t sound remotely angry now. His voice was quiet, oddly breathy.

Shoma swallowed dry and nodded, then, remembering Yuzuru couldn’t see him, he added, “Almost.”

The lower he drew the zip down, the closer the back of his hooked finger came to Yuzuru’s skin again. The curve of his back wasn’t pronounced enough, here, and the costume sat more snugly against it. Shoma gusted out a breath when his knuckle brushed, barely, against the small of Yuzuru’s back, and Yuzuru—Yuzuru made an odd, guttural sound, low on his throat, one that he bit off quickly, but not before Shoma could hear it. Shoma’s face flushed even hotter, and slowly, he withdrew his hands and stepped back.

If Yuzuru had been a sight before, it was nothing to how he looked now.

He was yet to turn around. The fabric of the costume splayed open, from neck to the bottom of his back, exposing an expanse of flawless, shining skin. The dip of his thin waist seemed even more pronounced, at this angle, for he stood with his chest closer to the wall than before, and his hips canted further back. And now, with the upper half of the costume open, Shoma could see a band of sturdy fabric wrapping around Yuzuru’s lower back, curling about his hips. The waistband of his dance belt, just peeking into view.

Shoma drew his eyes back up, following the defined line of Yuzuru’s spine along the flare of muscle that lead out, over his shoulder blades, shifting and twitching as he breathed, and then to his neck, where thick, sinewy muscle anchored the twist of his head.

And then to his face, half of which Shoma could see, as Yuzuru had turned again to look at him.

Shoma wondered if his own face looked as pink as Yuzuru’s did. If his eyes looked as dark, as shiny. If his expression looked quite as...hungry.

For a moment, they stared at one another. Shoma’s breath came just a little too fast and a little too shallow. His fingers twitched absently at his sides—the urge to reach out, to touch, to _grab_ , was almost painful, and becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

He wondered, briefly, if Yuzuru would let him. What would he do if Shoma were to step forward now, and catch the strong curve of Yuzuru’s hips in his hands? If he were to grip him tight and draw him close like that, ease him back, until Shoma could press himself against the firm, round flesh.

What if he pressed himself against the length of Yuzuru’s back, right now? Slipped his hands into the open back of the costume to hold Yuzuru’s waist, or maybe push deeper inside, test the stretch of the fabric by reaching further, to splay his palm flat against Yuzuru’s stomach and draw him back like that instead.

Would Yuzuru make that sound again? Low and throaty, bubbling up, unbidden and unstoppable. Would he lean into it? Press back of his own accord? Fit himself against the line of Shoma’s body, malleable to each new touch?

And maybe, if he were bold, Shoma would drag his lips along the side of Yuzuru’s neck. Barely the breath of a touch, following the thick line of muscle from his collar to the back of his ear—would Yuzuru make room for him, there? Tilt his jaw and crane his neck, create a space on which Shoma’s lips and teeth and tongue can play.

Looking at him now—at the way Yuzuru’s hooded gaze is still fixed on him, and the way he is still holding himself, and the impatient little twitches and flexes of his thighs, hips, back—Shoma thought, maybe, he would.

But they shouldn’t. Not here. Not now. Not when there is still a fight to be fought, a competition to be won.

Shoma clears his throat, and Yuzuru blinks dazedly.

“I thought you had to pee,” Shoma said, slow and measured, a concentrated effort to keep his voice steady, and Yuzuru seemed to snap back to himself, jolting upright.

“Right.” His voice came out too high and too cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying again. “Right. I’ll—I have to go. Thank you, for—” he gestured lamely towards his back, and Shoma nodded.

“No problem,” he said. And then, slowly, purposefully, “any time.”

Yuzuru looked at him. Shocked, at first, and then a long, appraising stare. And then he smiled, a cunning, knowing thing.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll...come to you. If I get stuck again.”

Shoma nodded once, hard. “Right.”

And with that, Yuzuru turned, shucking the top half of the costume down off his arms and chest as he went, and Shoma turned swiftly, gathering up the last of his own things, the tickle of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

Perhaps next time, Shoma thought, listening as Yuzuru shuffled around, peeling himself free, he won’t be so hesitant to lend a helping hand.  

**Author's Note:**

> For more dumb fic content, you can follow me on twitter @ [shomaun_ho](https://twitter.com/Shomaun_ho), and you can send me more prompts/ideas over on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/Shomaun_ho)
> 
> As usual, I'll unlock my other fics for a couple of days while this is up, so if you don't have an account but you want a chance to read those and leave me some sweet sweet feedback, now's the time!!


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